


Under the Tapestry

by sometimesmyheadhurts (Huffleporg)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Awakenings - Freeform, F/F, Missing Scene, Princess Emma Swan, Wish-verse, Young Emma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 17:51:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10037108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huffleporg/pseuds/sometimesmyheadhurts
Summary: How did Princess Emma immediately recognize Regina Mills as the Evil Queen, even with strange clothes and a new haircut?





	

She had seen the face before. How many hours had she spent staring into those dark brown eyes? After so many years of studying her face, there was no way to calculate. She definitely had no way to factor in the time she had spent seeing that haunting face every time she closed her eyes at night. So many nights that face had visited her dreams.

She could no longer remember what had possessed lift up the tapestry of the unicorn by the shining lake in a lonely corridor in the East Wing of the castle. She knew that she had to have had reasons that made sense to her nine-year-old self at the time, just as there had to have been reasons that had brought her to the corridor in the first place. What she had uncovered, however, erased all memory of the motives that led to it. 

Emma had froze, staring at the woman who had been hidden under the heavy fabric. Lips red as blood pursed ever so slightly. Eyes darker than the night that stared straight at her, making Emma feel as though she was being tickled from the inside. The eyes felt so alive, she was sure that if she were able to move, the eyes would follow her wherever she went. 

It took Emma some time to notice the scar traveling across the woman’s lip. Far from marring the woman’s beauty, as most scars Emma had seen in the past, this scar added something to her face. It made Emma wonder. What had cut the woman’s face? How long had it hurt her? How long had it taken for the cut to turn to a pink mark and then to fade into a scar? What would it feel like to brush her fingertips across? Would it be smooth or rough? Was it connected to the sadness in her eyes that was present despite the clear strength and power that radiated from her? What would it take to make her smile? 

That first time Emma had only been able to pull herself away from the portrait when she had heard the rumble of her stomach. The trance broken, Emma had looked to see that the sky had turned a deep violet, and the uneasy fear that she would be caught creeping in. She had needed to run to make it to dinner on time so as not to let her mother and father wonder where she had been. 

She could remember how she had felt inexplicably guilty during that dinner. She had felt as though her parents could read on her face that she had sent the whole afternoon looking at a portrait of a woman. It wasn’t as though her parents had ever told her not to spend hours looking at a painting, and they had never mentioned that painting, but still she felt as though they wouldn’t approve of what she had done.

For years she had been drawn to the portrait, unable to resist the siren’s call that only she seemed capable of hearing. It was secret. Her special place that allowed her to ponder the mystery of the beautiful woman. Each time she went there, she saw something new. The slight curl of her hair. The details in the background like the mirror with a man’s face in it. The tightness of her dress around her hips. The deep plunge of her neckline almost all the way to her naval. The crests of the breasts it revealed. The portrait never failed to transfix.

Even when she wasn’t looking at the painting, the woman still occupied her thoughts. At mealtimes or walking through the corridors, she found her mind drifting in the direction of that woman. As she put on her make-up, she imagined the woman standing behind her, watching. While she got undressed, she could feel the woman’s hands helping to slide off her dress, tugging her shift off above her head. When she lay in bed at night, she imagined the dark haired woman’s hands exploring her body, touching her just as she touched herself. She dreamed of waking up to find long dark hair on the pillow beside her. It was a fantasy that clung to her during the waking hours, driving her back to the portrait. Back to her.

 

“ _ I see you found her. _ ”

Emma had jumped at the sound of her mother’s voice. “ _ Who is she _ ?” Emma had asked. She felt a flush coming to her cheeks. After so many years she had been caught.

A strained smile crossed the Queen’s lips as she looked at her fifteen-year-old daughter. “ _ The Evil Queen. My step-mother. _ ”

“ _ Regina _ ,” breathed Emma, a sinking sensation filling her heart. It was the woman from her parents’ stories, the one who had caused them so much pain and who would have cast the darkest curse. It felt as though she had been dunked in nearly frozen water to learn that the woman who had haunted her dreams was the same as the witch in the nightmares of her parents. She understood now why she had felt afraid she would be discovered that first time, and while every time since she had ventured here she was doing something that her parents would only see as wrong. She had known, she had always known, that this was something forbidden. Something that was hidden for a good reason.

“ _ Yes. She put a spell on the picture so it couldn’t be removed _ .” Snow White sighed and shook her head. “Well, come on. We best not leave your father wondering where we got to.” She reached out and laid her hand on her daughter’s shoulder, guiding her way from Regina. 

Until they turned the corner, Emma couldn’t stop herself from staring at the tapestry that now hid the former Queen from sight. Confusion made her head reel and stomach turn. 

For years, Emma hadn’t dared walk down that corridor. Though she had felt the longing to return and gaze upon the Evil Queen’s face, she hadn’t been able to summon the courage. Every time she passed that corridor to the portrait, Emma had paused, wondering if today would be the day she would be brave enough to lift that tapestry again and see the woman who still appeared in her dreams. She wasn’t brave, though. She never had been. Not even for the stranger who made her tremble in ways no one else ever had.

 

Even after all the years since she had last looked at the portrait, there was no mistaking who was standing there before her, though the clothes were strange and her hair styled differently. 

Regina.

She couldn’t call her that, though. Not to her face, even if she had called her by that name for so many times before in her mind. “You’re the Evil Queen.” 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by swanqueenissofuckingendgame's observation and willow-hermione's desire for a fic about it on Tumblr.


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